


Something Like Grace

by The_Apocryphal_One



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Forgiveness, Post-Canon, Post-Movie(s), Redemption, Rey Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5807545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Apocryphal_One/pseuds/The_Apocryphal_One
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the war, the man who was once Kylo Ren waits for his sentence. Reylo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Like Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's been a month since I saw TFA, so I figured it's about time I posted something for my newest OTP obsession--Reylo. Yes I know it's problematic, no I don't care, they aren't confirmed to be cousins and even if they were, I've shipped far worse things. So if you don't like Reylo, then please just click the backspace button--there's no need to hate or be rude. If you do like Reylo, then read on!
> 
> This fic assumes Rey's a Kenobi, because that's the theory I like the most.

**Something Like Grace**

* * *

  _Grace /ɡrās/_

_noun_

_1\. a. A disposition to be generous or helpful; goodwill. b. Mercy; clemency._

* * *

 

His holding cell on Coruscant is eight by eight by eight, barely enough room for him to stand and stretch his legs. Its walls are a stark white that almost blinds him to look at, accustomed as he is to the dark grays and blacks of the First Order. The only potential source of amusement is a metal bed, and that’s attached to the floor to prevent him from throwing it. His wrists are always bound in a pair of Force-suppressing handcuffs, the edges of which constantly bite at his skin. There are no windows, and the door is inseparable from the wall, giving the sense that this small room is all that exists in the galaxy.

As far as commodities go, Ben Solo could have gotten far worse. He’s fed three meals a day, he’s permitted to use the ‘fresher down the hall, he’s allowed visitors, and he gets an hour in the afternoon to exercise—under supervision, of course. He knows from experience that the First Order would not have been so accommodating. Especially not for a prisoner of war as reviled as him.

He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, contemplating this, when a sudden surge of frustration and anger overtakes him. Ben instantly knows the source. _Rey_.

He may not be able to use the Force while cuffed like this, but he can still sense the world around him, and his bond with Rey is too strong to be smothered by just a set of handcuffs. He knows Rey’s been arguing with the Senate all day again, trying to get them to alleviate his punishment, and he can feel her growing fed up with the debate. She’s _so close_ to…something, he can’t tell what; so _close_ , but they’re all being _stubborn_ and she _gets_ why, she does, but _still_ —

Tentatively, he sends a wave of soothing affection through the Force Bond, a silent _I love you._

A pause, and then he receives an unspoken _I love you too_ in return. Her annoyance and anger flicker and diminish.

Ben leans back against the wall and slides his eyes shut. He’s still getting used to this, used to the grace he’s been given. That he’d been allowed to try to atone by helping the Resistance instead of being killed on the spot. That, when the war was over, he was permitted a clean cell with basic human rights instead of being thrown into a dank hole. That his mother and uncle and Rey had found it in their hearts to forgive him. That Rey had gone beyond that by trying to befriend him, and then eventually even loved him. It hadn’t been easy, there was a lot of bad blood between them, but she had.

With his eyes closed, he thinks he can almost see the Force Bond, stretched out between them in a stream of silver strands, lightly pulsing with emotion. He breathes in deeply, imagines himself as a calm, steadfast rock in an ocean—a notion that would have been laughable while he’d been Kylo Ren—exhales, lets the feelings from the bond wash over him, and then repeats the entire thing. It’s a peaceful exercise, stable, one that centers him. Content, he lets himself slip away.

He doesn’t know how long he spends in this almost-meditative state when he senses Rey drawing close and simultaneously hears footsteps. Depending on their weight and pattern, he can tell what she’s feeling even without the bond—heavy stomps means anger, while a rapid patter is excitement or joy. Today, her steps are light and quick. Good news, then. That’s puzzling, he’s certain the Senate were set on their position. _Not that you don’t deserve it._

Ben opens his eyes in time for the door of his cell to open with a _whoosh_. Rey enters, barely able to hide the grin struggling to take over her face. The guards follow and stand in the open doorway, blasters at the ready—one of the rules set when he was allowed visitation rights. The Resistance was wary about what he could do to his visitors behind closed doors. The lack of privacy is a little frustrating at times, but he understands their concerns, and it’s a small price to pay to be allowed visitors at all.

“Exile,” Rey proclaims, and from the tone you’d have thought she was announcing that she’d won the lottery.

She may as well have. Ben blinks, certain he misheard her. “Pardon?”

She drops onto his lap, facing him—his bed can barely hold one person, much less two—and threads her fingers through his. “Exile. That’s your sentence. You’re to be sent to one of the planets on the Outer Rims to live out the rest of your days in relative peace. They’ll send someone along to keep an eye on you for six galactic standard months, and you’ll need to check in with them before going anywhere. If you try to leave the planet without permission, you’ll be thrown into a cell for the rest of your life; if you try to enter space under New Republic law for any reason, ever, you’re to be killed on sight. It’s harsh, but better than expected.”

Rey’s eyes flicker to the guards. “Some would say better than you deserve.”

It is. It really is. Ben stares at Rey’s beaming face, disbelief flowing through him. When the war ended and Snoke was dead, he’d honestly expected to be executed. There was too much he’d done, too much blood on his hands, to be washed away by his help in the war. If Rey and his mother and his uncle hadn’t vouched for him, and if they hadn’t been as monumental in winning the war as they had, he probably _would_ have been executed.

But they had, and they were, and their rush to his defense had thrown the Senate into a loop. And then Ben, snatched from the brink of certain death, could only wait. Wait as his loved ones pulled in every favor they were owed. Wait as they talked the Senate out of a death penalty. Wait as they wheedled his punishment down to a life sentence, then to twenty years, then ten. He’d thought that, for sure, was the breaking point. That ten years in a cell was the best grace he’d get. And he deserved it. He’d accepted it. He’d readied himself for it.

And now he’d gotten something far different. Grace beyond what he’d expected.

 _Exile._ Freedom of a kind, for him and for the rest of the civilized galaxy; they’d never have to see him again, and he wouldn’t have to endure their bitter, if justified, hate. Amazed, he presses his forehead against her. “How did you do it?” he murmurs, a little choked.

Rey grins, a wry little twist of her lips with the barest hint of a smirk—he’s rubbing off on her. “I’ve only just been bargaining for trash all my life.”

He laughs. “I imagine there’s a stark difference between dealing with store owners and politicians.”

“Are you joking? Some of the people on Jakku were _stubborn_. The senators were practically a walk in the park compared to them.”

“Careful, Jedi,” he mocks half-heartedly, “Arrogance leads to the Dark side.”

Instead of laughing, though, Rey’s face clouds over, and he inwardly curses himself—stupid, stupid of him to make a joke about falling, even months later it’s still too soon—

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Rey says slowly, breaking him out of his mental admonishments, “And I don’t think either of us is suited to be a Jedi. We’re both too emotional, and we used the Light _and_ the Dark to beat Snoke. That’s something the Jedi wouldn’t approve of. Or the Sith.”

Then she lifts her head and smiles brilliantly. “But maybe we shouldn’t be Jedi. Maybe we should build a new order, neither Jedi nor Sith, that teaches its members how to balance the Light and the Dark. And there are planets in the Outer Rims that aren’t mired in either side—the perfect place to build the foundations, don’t you think?”

“You want to come with me?” is all he can manage in stunned response. He’d thought their relationship would end when the hammer fell. Rey had waited her entire life for a family that wasn’t coming; he wouldn’t have asked her to wait another ten years for him to serve his sentence, nor would he ask her to give up the family she’d found in the Resistance to follow him into exile.

Rey huffs. “Well, of _course_ I do; I love you. I’ll still be able to holocall our friends and family, and they’ve already promised they’ll visit. And once your probation is over, I’ll be able to visit them, too. It’s not as though I’m cutting off my relations to everyone else in the galaxy.”

Ben stares at her, awed, until she fidgets, face turning red as she misinterprets his silence. “That’s…if it’s okay with you. I mean, maybe you’d just like to retire quietly and never lift a lightsaber again. Or maybe you don’t want me, and if that’s the case that’s totally fi—”

Disregarding the watching guards, he cuts her off with a kiss, one that hopefully leaves no doubts that yes, he _does_ want her by his side. He opens up the Force Bond, lets her feel how overwhelmed he is by all this, the storm of shock and awe and disbelief and gratitude that’s almost choking him.

_I don’t deserve this._

She inhales sharply, then sends him a wave of images in turn—of how hard she’d fought, not just in the court, but outside it, to convince the people to forgive him. Of not just his mother and uncle testifying for him, but her two friends, Finn and Poe, and Chewbacca as well. And then she shows him things he _does_ know, memories of him fighting by her side against the First Order, giving all the intel he can, working harder than anyone else, to atone for his sins.

_Yes you do._

“You’re an amazing woman, Rey Kenobi,” he murmurs as he pulls away. “This is—” and here he has to stop and laugh, half-hysterical, half-sobbing, “it’s more than anything I dared hope for.”

She lets out a sigh, equal parts exasperation and affection, and cups his cheek, the one with the scar she gave him. “Master Luke once told me that nothing chains a person heavier than guilt. I’m not saying you should forget your mistakes—but you shouldn’t let your past overshadow your future.”

He closes his eyes and leans into her touch. Maybe she has a point. Maybe he’ll never be fully accepted for what he did. Maybe he’ll never be completely free of his sins. But maybe he shouldn’t forget how he helped fix them. Maybe he should believe that, if the people he wronged the most could forgive him, there’s something in him worth forgiving.

Maybe it’s time he started forgiving himself, too.


End file.
